


Lepechinia nugula

by rainier_day



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Briefly Neighbours, Gen, M/M, Plants, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 05:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20335066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainier_day/pseuds/rainier_day
Summary: His frown deepens. “I refuse to air out my dirty laundry on my balcony like this. This is hardly the place for it.”“Is that so? And here I was told the balcony was the perfect place for humans to do laundry.”





	Lepechinia nugula

**Author's Note:**

> I had this piece lying around and mostly finished for a while now and since I haven't posted any DA stuff lately I thought I'd finish it

“Everything I touch withers,” he laments drunkenly as he hangs over the railing of his balcony. After yet another unsuccessful relationship, Dorian decided to change up his routine of complaining and getting drunk with his friends at a random tavern to complaining and getting drunk alone and in the comfort of his own apartment. 

“Surely that can’t be true,” comes a voice suddenly.

Eyes widening, he stands up and whirls around a little too fast and barely catches himself on the rails. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

Leaning forward and watching him curiously from the balcony next door is an elf with jet black tattoos and eyes that seem to glow from the light reflected. “Well, I’m standing on the balcony next to yours. Generally, that’s a pretty good indication that I’m either your neighbour or a burglar. Either way, I heard you crying so I thought I’d come see what’s wrong.”

“I wasn’t crying,” Dorian protests, his words only a little slurred as far as he can tell. “I was _lamenting_. There’s a difference. See? No tears.”

The elf has the gall to _laugh_. “Yes, I see that now. My apologies. You’re definitely not crying. I don’t see why you’re _lamenting _your touch.”

His frown deepens. “I refuse to air out my dirty laundry on my balcony like this. This is hardly the place for it.”

“Is that so? And here I was told the balcony was the perfect place for humans to do laundry.”

Emptying the bottle, he shakes his head. “Ha ha. Don’t try to be cute with me—I refuse to broadcast my issues like that. That’s to be done over tea. Or wine. Preferably more wine. The tea here is just a waste of time and water.”

“Fine, if you insist,” his possible neighbour says. “I’ll come over. Hang on.”

Within seconds, there’s a knock at his door and Dorian answers reluctantly, grabbing another bottle of wine on his way. The two of them end up talking—or, rather, _he _ends up talking and unloading everything onto this kindly stranger, ending his story with a dramatic, “Clearly everything I touch withers.”

“Hey now, that’s not true,” the elf says. He may have introduced himself at one point but Dorian’s long since thrown that particular piece of information away. “I have an idea, just wait here. Don’t lock the door—or, don’t try. You might vomit of you try to stand.”

Dorian manages to raise a hand in protest and all but closes his eyes for a moment before the elf is shaking him awake and telling him, “You should probably go to bed. I’ll just...”

He falls back asleep before ever hearing the rest of the statement.

\--

When he wakes up the next afternoon, his brain is on fire and he’s convinced the world hates him. Glancing around, Dorian sees that he’s still on the couch with a blanket draped over him and a bottle of water on the floor within arm’s reach. Gratefully chugging the liquid down, he crawls over to the bathroom in an attempt to make himself look more presentable than he feels.

Texting Felix to bring him soup, he nearly trips over something on his way to the kitchen. He does a double take at the sight of the potted plant sitting there inconspicuously. Narrowing his eyes, he tries to recall when he bought something like this.

Then he notices the note on his countertop. 

Frowning, Dorian picks it up and reads: 

_‘Dearest Dorian,_

_Thanks for agreeing to look after my plant for me. I trust that it won’t wither in your care._

_Your Neighbour and Definitely Not A Burglar,_

_M._

_P.S. I hope you’re not too hungover even though you probably are.’_

Walking over to the plant, he crouches down to see a name tag hanging off one of the leaves and narrows his eyes.

“Who names a plant Nugget?” he asks, reading the short message again. Digging through his hazy memories in hopes of dredging up an explanation of some kind, he remembers the elf and that’s about it. 

Deciding not to think about it too much, he goes about his day until Felix shows up with his request and spots the plant. “Did you decide to take up botany, Dorian?”

“No, apparently I am doing someone a favour.”

“Apparently?”

Dorian shrugs and makes a vague gesture towards the empty bottles of wine lined up on his kitchen counter.

And because Felix isn’t his best friend for nothing, he nods knowingly and leaves it at that.

\--

The next day, Dorian notices the leaves on the plant looking a little shriveled and finally decides to look into it. Pulling out his phone, he snaps a picture of the plant and reverse searches it to find _Lepechinia nugula_. 

“Also known as the Nug Plant because it looks like a nug when it flowers.” He glances over at the plant and nods slowly in realization. “Ah, Nugget. Of course. How quaint.”

Reading through the article, Dorian does a double take at the very specific set of instructions required to keep the plant alive. 

“Indirect light? Soil acidity? Who has time for that?” he mutters incredulously.

Mind made up, he marches over to his neighbour’s door and knocks.

No answer.

Luckily, just then, the landlord appears from down the hall and asks, “Hey, Sparkler, you looking for someone?”

“Yes, would you happen to know the man who lives here?” he asks, politely but with some urgency.

The dwarf frowns and rubs the back of his neck. A bad sign, he takes it. “Shit, I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”

It’s Dorian’s turn to frown. “Out of luck? What do you mean out of luck, Varric? I literally spoke to him two days ago.”

“Yeah, and he moved out yesterday. Guess you didn’t know,” Varric replies.

He _does _remembering briefly waking up and complaining about the sound of some idling truck outside and groans. “At least tell me you have a forwarding address for him. I have something of his that I need to give back immediately.”

“Nope. He’s Dalish, you know? He had to go back to his clan on short notice. Must’ve been serious.”

Glancing back over at his apartment, his shoulders sag in defeat. “Great,” he mutters. Never one to back out of a challenge after failing to back out of it, he rolls up his sleeves and goes home. “Guess I need to go shopping for plant supplies.”

\--

“So I heard from a little birdy that you left the party early _and_ turned down some jousting last night.”

Dorian massages his temples and sighs, “Don’t remind me, Sera. It wasn’t by choice. Also, get down from there before you fall and crack your head open.”

Ignoring that, the elf sitting on his window sill blinks, a flash of concern crossing her features. “You wanted to though, right? Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong. I just had something to do in the morning,” he explains with a wave, wanting nothing more than to change the subject or drop the conversation entirely.

“_More _important than a good joust?” she asks incredulously.

He lets out an exasperated huff. “I had to water my stupid plant, okay? It will die if I deviate from its very strict watering schedule and I, for some reason I can no longer recall, feel the need to keep it alive.”

She turns and stares at him. “You’re having it on, right?”

“No, Sera, I thought we established that I’m not having it ‘on’ with anyone,” Dorian mutters bitterly.

“No, stupid, I meant—oh, you’re for real! A _plant_!”

Sera nearly falls out the window from laughing.

Sighing to himself, he shakes his head. “What on earth has my life come to…?”

\--

Six years pass and he suddenly finds himself cornered in his own house by one amused yet very imposing Maevaris Talani. “Dorian, darling, I didn’t come all this way to visit you only to play shopkeeper for a day—for a flower shop opened by you and my late husband’s cousin no less.”

“No, I suspect you did not,” Dorian replies lightly. “Thank you for that. It was most helpful.”

After getting a more permanent position in the city, his father decided to gift him with a house rather than the small apartment he had deigned to dwell in. Much to his great embarrassment, the plant’s welfare continued to score fairly high on his list of priorities and Varric offered him a solution he couldn’t turn down; thus, the flower shop was opened.

He suspects there may be illicit businesses happening in the back, but that’s easy enough to sweep under the rug.

On that particular day, the employee Varric had hired happened to call in sick for some family emergency, and with a symposium and book signing, neither of them were available. Luckily, Maevaris showed up when she did and was roped into the favour by whom she begrudgingly admitted were her favourite people currently situated this side of Thedas.

“Also, when Felix mentioned you developed quite the green thumb,” she goes on to say, “I will freely confess that I thought he meant you shacked up with a gardener. This is far more surprising.”

Glancing upwards, Dorian sighs and replies, “Believe me when I say that no one is more surprised by this particular turn of events than me. But for the record, I only have _one _plant and I am technically only its caretaker until the original owner returns to claim it—though it’s been six years and hope is dwindling.”

Maevaris places a hand on her hip and shifts her weight in thought. “Yes, it was the, what was it called again?”

“Nug Plant. Nugget.”

She asks, “Yes, that. Why don’t you have a servant or staff look after the silly thing?”

“Because the stupid thing wilts when I so much as pour a few extra drops of water onto it,” he says with a frown. “And I’m only _slightly_ exaggerating.”

Hiding a laugh behind her hand, Maevaris suddenly perks up. “By the way, a nice looking elf was asking about it today—of course, I told him it wasn’t for sale, as you so specifically instructed, my dear. He asked about the owner and I told him that, according to that calendar you keep in the back, you would be in tomorrow to water it,” she informs him.

Dorian makes a face. “He’s probably the servant of some nobleman around here. There was a fad last year, you see. Rare plants were all the rage and we had Orlesians breaking into the shop. It was quite the scandal.”

Arching a brow, she nods slowly. “That explains the protection spells and runes. Orlesians. What won’t they do?”

“I’m not worried. The runes are very well done. I drew them, after all. Also, Varric is surprisingly invested in the shop,” he says idly. “Now, since you came all this way, what say you to dinner?”

She wraps an arm around his and smiles. “Darling, I thought you’d never ask.”

\--

The next day, he leaves early to take a detour to the shop where the employee immediately stops watering the plants and goes to greet him. “Lord Pavus,” the young elven woman says in a hushed voice, “you have a visitor here to see you.”

Dorian sighs. “Yes, I’m not surprised.”

“He should be in the back. I made him some tea while he waited,” she tells him. 

He arches a brow. This, he wasn’t expecting. It’s not normally a policy around here to offer tea to servants running errands. “Very well, I suppose I should go see this visitor. Thank you, Orana.”

She bows her head and returns to her work.

Strutting to the back where he keeps the plant, he finds a figure admiring the plants idly, occasionally leaning in for a closer look. Without turning his attention away from the plants, the stranger says, “Your plants are in remarkable health.”

Crossing his arms, Dorian narrows his eyes. “Yes? This _is _a shop that specializes in plants.”

Finally backing away from the plants, the figure straightens and from the silhouette, he can make out very distinct elf ears. “‘Everything I touch withers’, was it? I guess I proved you wrong after all. I believe you owe me five sovereigns for that.” Stepping into the light, the elf smiles. “Hello, Dorian.”

His jaw goes slack momentarily with recognition as those amber eyes glint from light reflected off the windows. “It’s you!”

“It’s me,” the elf says with a chuckle. “You seem well.”

At this, he frowns and straightens his robes. “Well? I am financially supporting a flower shop. I would hardly call this ‘well’ and it’s entirely your fault.”

Unbothered, his old neighbour tilts his head. “Is that so? I think you’ve done a great job. Do you want me to take Nugget back?”

He takes a step forward protectively without thinking. Quickly realizing his actions, his mind whirls, looking for an excuse. “Go right ahead,” he mutters with an offhanded wave.

Unconvinced, the elf shoots him an amused look. “I promise I’ll take good care of it.”

Surprised by his own reluctance, Dorian forces a shrug. “What does it matter? It _is _your plant.”

“It is. And you even kept Nugget’s name tag. That was very sweet of you.” Returning to stand in front of him, the elf smiles. “We can decide who gets custody of Nugget later. For now, I feel like I should thank you for taking care of it. Varric is offering me dinner at one of his bars if you have a mind to join.”

“Only if it’s your treat,” he immediately replies.

The elf laughs. “Of course. I don’t know if you remember—you were awfully drunk at the time—but my name is Mahanon.”

“Remember? Of course I remember,” Dorian simpers, committing the name to memory. “How could I possibly forget the name of the man who upped and left his plant-child in my care for _six_ years?”

“My apologies, there was a situation that needed my immediate attention over by Wycome. If it’s any consolation, I think Nugget’s grown quite attached to you. I don’t suppose I could just up and move my plant-child away on a whim,” Mahanon says, glancing back toward his plant.

Dorian arches a brow. “With all its ridiculous needs and demands? It’d die before you even get on the road. No, I won’t have it. I won’t let you waste six years of my time. You’ll simply have to stay for a little longer.”

Mahanon seems to consider his words seriously, nodding thoughtfully but smiling all the while. “Stay a little longer, huh? I suppose if you insist.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was based off a little note I wrote myself who knows when. It literally just said:
> 
> Everything I touch withers  
That's not true. How dare they. Here, hold onto this plant for me, would you?  
He gave me the single most difficult plant to take care of all now I'm a botanist


End file.
